


Bad Kids

by richie-tozier-is-my-eboy (HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (tags to be added as appropriate), Abuse, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Childhood Trauma, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex (non-explicit)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence/pseuds/richie-tozier-is-my-eboy
Summary: Eddie had always been so certain what he and Ma had was a family. Now he's not so sure.80s Foster Home AU
Relationships: (more to be added) - Relationship, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Bad Kids

**Author's Note:**

> It’s sticky and warm, and Eddie Kaspbrak wants his mother.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” his social worker says over the dull hum of the radio, “but sometimes in life we have to make compromises.”

Eddie grits his teeth from the passenger side but remains outwardly meek. His gaze is lowered as he bobs his head, grips the bag on his lap a little tighter.

“With a bit of luck,” continues Mrs. Peterson, “this will just be a temporary placement until we can find you a permanent foster home.”

Eddie nods again to be polite, finding no comfort in her reassurance. They had been driving now for just under twenty minutes and he had yet to share more than a few words. He isn’t in the mood for conversation, especially with her.

Gum snaps between her lips and Eddie suppresses the instinct to wrinkle his nose. 

Ma would have hated her. Mrs. Peterson wears men’s pantsuits, red lipstick and keeps her long, brown hair down despite being well into that ambiguous, later stage of adulthood Eddie has been taught ladies are supposed to conform to one another in. Eddie is still undecided on his opinion of her, mostly due to having only met her a week or so prior, but he doesn’t trust her. The loud, open-mouthed chewing certainly isn’t helping her case.

He leans towards the open window, lets the breeze cool his face as they pass through the next set of unfamiliar streets.

He’s anxious. Eddie guesses that’s only natural when all his worldly possessions are packed up in a suitcase in Mrs. Peterson’s trunk, in the rucksack on his lap, about to be palmed off into the hands of the next stranger, albeit ‘temporarily,’ whatever that means.

Eddie tries a few steady breaths to calm himself, but it only exemplifies the feeling. This panics him and Eddie smothers it instead. Numbs the source and pushes it away. It works for the time being. A bandaid over something he isn’t ready to fully handle yet.

They’re in a more residential area now, detached houses separated by big yards. It isn’t as nice as Eddie’s own neighbourhood, but it isn’t as bad as he had initially feared when Mrs. Peterson had first told him about his placement. She keeps calling it a _‘children and young people’s home,’_ but Eddie is intelligent enough to understand that’s just a roundabout way of saying ‘ _orphanage.’_

“Right,” says Mrs. Peterson once they reach the end of the street. She flicks on her indicator. “If I remember correctly…” She makes the turn off. “Oh, yes. Here we are.”

Eddie expects a towering, black gate with iron fencing to match. Possibly barbed with sharp wire. He had envisioned coarse gravel and a cold stone fortress. Rattly, single-paned windows. A lumpy, moth-eaten mattress. Servings of coagulated oatmeal in poorly washed bowls. Community showers rife with fungus.

He looks for the humongous signpost he expects to be malleted beside the entrance. Branded in an ominous, gothic font to let passersby know this was a place for the unwanted.

It isn’t there. Neither is the concrete or the iron or the fortress. It’s just a house. A red-bricked house, half hidden behind thick green foliage; trees and bushes. There’s a smooth, paved courtyard in front that Mrs. Peterson drives smoothly into, passing an innocuous placard that reads _Derry House._

It’s bigger than the average home, about three of them all squished together, but, from the outside at least, it isn’t as uninviting or scary as Eddie had feared.

Mrs. Peterson parks her Ford up neatly beside a few other cars, the radio cutting off with the engine as she turns her keys. “Nervous?” she asks.

“No, ma’am,” lies Eddie.

Mrs. Peterson gives a knowing smile and Eddie seethes neutrally at her pity. “That’s good to hear. Let’s head inside.”

Eddie gets out the car stiffly, bag on his back. He rolls his suitcase after Mrs. Peterson as they head to the entrance, standing behind her as she presses a firm thumb to the buzzer.

It doesn’t take long for their call to be answered. The front door opens to reveal a brown boy about Eddie’s age. His t-shirt is plain, textured hair not quite buzzcut, but not quite short-back-and-sides either. 

He gives a handsome smile with all his front teeth and Eddie blinks in surprise. He has never met a black person his own age before, not face-to-face. The unexpectedness of finding out he would be living with one startled him a little. 

Eddie’s only other interaction with a black person had been Jim, the school janitor (“ _that darkie,”_ as Ma had called him.) He was always kind to Eddie when he caught him on occasion hiding in the boy’s restroom after school, nothing but gentle eyes and worn wrinkles.

Adults, however, are a different beast entirely to his peers. Eddie understands what adults want from him, knows the ball game. Other teenagers remain an unsolvable, anxiety-inducing mystery.

“Hi, Mrs. Peterson,” says the black boy, well-mannered and confident.

“Oh, Mike!” replies Mrs. Peterson. “Now this is a surprise. What are you doing home from school?”

Mike steps back to let them inside. “I caught a stomach bug and Miss. Blum said I should stay home an extra day just to be safe.” 

Eddie stiffens. (“ _You have a very weak immunity, sweetness. We can’t risk you catching anything, can we?”)_

“Oh, you poor dear,” sympathises Mrs. Peterson, wiping her kitten heels against the doormat. 

Eddie is hesitant but comes in after her, wiping his own shoes off, too.

“It was nothing really,” says Mike as Eddie attempts to pull his heavy case over the threshold. “I’m feeling much better now—here, let me help.”

Eddie’s instinct is to argue that he has it. He doesn’t want Mike’s germs on his stuff, but manners force his hand and he relinquishes the task to the stranger without a word.

Mike brings Eddie’s luggage inside and Mrs. Peterson closes the door. The entryway is spacious, all scuffed terracotta tiles and white washed walls. There’s a long shoe cubby made of worn-wood, a plethora of coat hooks above it. Eddie notes they seem unused, a pile of jackets hung over what Eddie assumes is supposed to be an umbrella stand instead.

Mrs. Peterson puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie, this is Mike. He’s one of the residents here at Derry.”

“Nice to meet you,” adds Mike.

“Nice to meet you,” echoes Eddie, keeping his distance. Mrs. Peterson’s touch is unwanted but Eddie is more focused on the viruses currently invading the handle of his bag.

Before anything further is shared a new face joins them from one of the doorways.

“Dorothy, sorry! I had my hands full with the laundry,” she greets, late thirties.

“No problem, Patricia,” says Mrs. Peterson. “Mike here was looking after us.”

The lady, _Patricia,_ gives Mike a fond look. “Of course he was. What would we do without you?”

Mike seems quietly pleased by her doting and shrugs a shoulder.

Eddie is struggling to focus. All he can think about is his suitcase, how he is going to have to touch it, that he is going to catch Mike’s illness and his immune system isn’t going to be able to fight it off.

He can’t go back into hospital. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

“And you must be Edward!” The new face beams Eddie’s way, interrupting his inward spiral.

She is genuine from behind her glasses and her A-line skirt sweeps about her ankles as she approaches him. Her strawberry blonde hair is chopped into a conservative bob along her jawline, gold earrings peeking out from underneath. “It’s so lovely to meet you. Welcome to Derry House. I’m Miss. Blum and I’m one of the key workers here.”

Eddie nods along in the right places. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he replies meekly when he is sure she is finished.

Miss. Blum gives Eddie a warm look that feels unearned. “My, what a polite young man.”

“I knew you’d be happy with him,” says Mrs. Peterson. 

She squeezes Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie feels like a beloved pedigree being paraded around by his preening owner. It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling after being Sonia Kaspbrak’s son for fifteen-and-a-half years, but it remains unpleasant. His face only heats up hotter due to Mike’s presence. There is no doubt in his mind he will be ridiculed for this later, as is always the case.

Miss. Blum laughs kindly. “I’m sure we will. Come on in, dear. You must be hungry, I’ll make you something to eat.”

Eddie thinks of un-disinfected surfaces, of bacteria under untrimmed nails, of salmonella enterica. “Thank-you, ma’am.”

Everyone smiles and Eddie looks at the floor.

Mrs. Peterson’s hand leaves his shoulder. “I’m going to be in the office finishing up some paperwork,” she tells Eddie, “but I’ll see you before I go, okay?”

Eddie nods. “Okay.”

“You can leave your knapsack with your suitcase and we can take everything up to your room after lunch,” says Miss. Blum.

Eddie nods again, already obediently shrugging off his backpack.

Miss. Blum disappears back through the doorway she came from and Mrs. Peterson totters off towards a set of stairs Eddie had yet to notice.

“Have you been in care long?” asks Mike.

Eddie is unsure what Mike’s angle is and struggles with the split second decision of whether or not he should be truthful. He is wary in case he makes himself a target. He sets down his bag. “No.”

Mike softens. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s nice here.”

Eddie just nods and keeps his distance. He wants Mike and his stomach bug as far away from him as possible.

“Mrs. Peterson is my social worker, too,” continues Mike.

“She’s nice,” replies Eddie.

“Yeah,” agrees Mike. He seems to sense Eddie’s unease, glances to the stairs. “Well, I’ll catch you later then.”

Mike heads up the way Mrs. Peterson went, and Eddie is left alone.

“Come on through, Ed!” calls Miss. Blum.

Eddie follows the sound of her voice.

“Do you like being called Ed?” she asks, hidden behind a fridge door. “Or do you prefer Eddie? Ted? Ned? I supposed that last one is a little old fashioned nowadays.” 

The kitchen is much larger than Eddie’s back home, closer to triple-sized than double. The floor is set in the same terracotta of the hallway and the countertops that stretch around the room are laminate. There are two commercial fridge-freezers, one of which Miss. Blum is still rummaging inside of, a dual range stove fitted with double ovens and a spacious, steel sink.

“Eddie is fine, thank-you, ma’am,” he says.

“Eddie it is.” Miss. Blum is agreeable, knocking the fridge door shut with her hip. It’s covered in magnets and photographs Eddie is too shy to go take a closer look at. She sets down a butter dish and brown deli paper next to a bag of bread. “Is ham okay?”

( _“Raw pork is dangerous. It’s filled with larva. Do you want trichinosis, Eddie-bear? Because that’s what happens when you don’t cook it properly. You eat one bite of undercooked pork and you’ll have parasites eating up your insides.”)_

“Yes, ma’am,” answers Eddie.

Miss. Blum reaches into a draw for a butter knife and prompts, “come sit.”

Eddie does as he is told and goes to sit at the island. There’s a document wallet and a neat pile of papers, but Eddie was raised not to snoop, so he doesn’t, keeps his gaze on Miss. Blum instead.

“It’ll be a couple of hours yet until everyone gets home,” she says. “We can get to know each other a little better and get you settled into your room before then, okay? Go over our ground rules.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eddie doesn’t bat an eye. His whole life has been determined by rules and routine. In fact, the new knowledge that they exist actually makes him feel a little better. Things have been far too lax for Eddie’s comfort in the emergency foster home he’d been placed in before now.

“Good.” Miss. Blum looks charmed, an expression Eddie is used to receiving from adults. She cuts his sandwich in half. “We all want you to feel at home whilst you’re staying with us.”

This strange building being home feels like an impossibility. Home is a two-story detached house on a sleepy street miles away from here. A front room scented with potpourri, the low rumble of Ma’s soap operas, Ma herself sat in her chair, painting her nails. A place Eddie was born and has always known, waiting, patient and already gathering dust, for his eighteenth birthday so that he could rescue it. Eddie aches.

“Here you go, honey. Eat up.” A plate is set before him. 

Eddie doesn’t want to be rude, but he doesn’t want to eat food that wasn’t prepared by Ma either. “Thank-you,” he says anyway, takes a bite as is expected of him.

“I don’t eat ham myself—apple juice?—what with Mr. Uris and I, Mr. Uris being the other primary caregiver here at Derry, being Jewish.” 

Juice box handed to him, Eddie isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, so doesn’t say anything. Ma never had anything nice to say about the jews either, but so far Eddie liked Miss. Blum, more than Mrs. Peterson anyway. He busies himself piercing the top of the carton instead.

“Is there anything we should know about that you can’t eat?”

Eddie realises she had only brought up her religion to ease into this question, shared a little of herself in an attempt to pry Eddie out of his shell. She is unsuccessful due to the fact Eddie sees through her. “I have an allergy list in my bag.”

“A list?” says Miss. Blum, then, playfully, “A short one, I hope.”

After a mouthful of juice, Eddie corrects her as politely as he can manage, “It’s long. Sorry.”

She is kind with understanding, even surprising Eddie a little when her cheeks go pink. “That’s no problem, Eddie. I shouldn’t have made light of it.”

“It’s okay.” Eddie eats a little more bread and deli meat, wills his sensitive stomach to untense. He swallows. “I know it can be pretty inconvenient.”

Miss. Blum shakes her head. “Not at all. You can’t help what you’re allergic to. I’ll have a look at it tonight before dinner. We don’t want to be poisoning you during your first night here, do we?”

“No.” Eddie laughs along politely for her benefit. He sets down his sandwich, half-eaten.

Miss. Blum sits with him. “Do you have any questions for me before we get started?” 

He does but Eddie shakes his head no.

By this point, all he wants is to be left alone. He wants this never-ending stream of new faces to finally end. He’s so exhausted. All he had ever known until mere days ago was his small town, a community where everyone knows everyone. He’s felt like a flailing fish out of water the moment the doctor confirmed Ma was gone. Helpless as Mrs. Peterson had introduced herself to Eddie. Helpless as she and the rest of the adults around him refused to let him go to Ma’s bedside.

Maybe all of this would feel real if he’d just got to _see her._ He had only wanted to say goodbye.

“Are you sure? Alright, let me know if you change your mind. Now, Eddie, these are for you.” She slides over the documentation Eddie had been pointedly averting his gaze to. “It’s your welcome pack. Everything you need to know about living at Derry House is in here, but I’m sure after a couple of days you won’t need it.

“We have dinner altogether at six. On weekdays breakfast is available between half seven and eight. Weekends before ten thirty. Lunch is available from twelve when you’re not at school. There are two communal wash rooms. One for boys, one for girls. It’s a bit of a squeeze as we have another five male residents here at the moment.”

Eddie’s face greys. “I have to share a bathroom?”

“I’m afraid so,” replies Miss. Blum. “But our custodians are cleaning it more often than usual to keep everything hygienic—that doesn’t mean you get to leave behind a mess though, we expect everyone living here to clean up after themselves.”

Eddie nods, the only thing he can do, stomach churning as visions of mould and urine-stained toilet rims come back to haunt him.

“We run activities during the evenings and at the weekends. Myself and Mr. Uris live on site, so one of us will always be around if there are any problems. We have some part-time staff, too. You’ll be sharing a room with another resident: Ben.”

“ _And_ my bedroom?” Eddie doesn’t mean to sound so hysterical but he can no longer hide it.

No one had told him he was going to have to _share_ . Especially not with some stranger he’d never met. Eddie has never had to share anything a day in his life. He’s an only child— _was_ an only child—and he’s never played well with others. Always the loner at school. Always the odd one out. Always bullied.

This can’t be happening.

“Eddie? Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie registers numbly that he's having an asthma attack. “My inhaler,” he gasps, grips the counter with white knuckles.

Miss. Blum launches herself out of the chair in an instant.

*

Alone at last, Eddie stares blankly at the newest unfamiliar ceiling of many. He supposes he’ll have more time to adjust to this one than the others, but Eddie still has the supposed _temporarily_ in the back of his mind. 

The mattress isn’t as comfortable as his own, but far more dealable than he had been catastrophizing in Mrs. Peterson’s passenger seat. He’d been left up here to recover after downstairs’ disaster, his grip around the smooth plastic of his inhaler helping ground him.

He was accustomed to long stretches of bedrest, but not like this, not without Ma hovering around in the background. Just Eddie now. Alone. Like he had wanted. He shifts onto his side and blinks away the burn of his eyes. Distracts himself with his environment.

His brows furrow at the _New Kids On The Block_ poster he finds, shocked out of his wallowing. He sits up, Joey McIntyre and the rest of the gang staring back at him. They’ve put him in the right room, right? He searches for evidence that the other side of the room belongs to a boy. When he finds a half-finished lego starcraft, an upturned comic and a pair of hastily discarded, unlaced sneakers, he relaxes.

Right room after all. Things that belong to this _Ben_ person. Eddie eyes the boy band poster a second time. What is that all about?

A gentle knock comes from the door and Eddie throws himself down onto his back habitually. He expects the door to open straight away, but then a cautious “Can I come in?” filters through.

“Y- Yeah,” stammers back Eddie, re-sits up.

The door opens and it’s that black kid again— _Mike_ , Eddie scolds himself—Eddie’s suitcase in hand, Eddie’s backpack over his shoulder. “Hey, man. Miss. Blum asked me to fetch you your stuff.”

Eddie nods, annoyed at himself by how much he immediately wishes he hadn’t. He’s so ungrateful. It’s fine. He’s just being dramatic. He can wipe everything down with the wet wipes in his bag once he’s gone. “Thanks. Sorry- sorry you keep having to do that.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Mike waves the whole thing off. “Not gonna let the guy who just had an asthma attack drag his stuff up a flight of stairs.”

Mike’s smile is as genuine as it had been downstairs. Eddie wants to believe it but he can’t, too used to having the rug pulled out from under him when he does. Instead his insides squirm, guilt-ridden he can’t go five minutes without someone having to intervene and help him. Ma’s right. He really can’t manage anything by himself. He wishes he weren’t so sickly. He wishes he had the social skills to maneuver this interaction better.

“Thanks,” Eddie ends up repeating lamely, tries his best to smile back. Great job, Kaspbrak.

Nodding, Mike is already stepping backwards towards the door. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I gotta go finish this essay. See you at dinner?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Mike says one last time before the door clicks back shut.

Eddie immediately cringes into his hands. “Thanks?” he mumbles into them. “Again?” He flops back. “Ugh!”

His fingers re-curl around his inhaler; his durable, salbutamol-filled security blanket. His attention returns to the ceiling.

“I wanna go home,” he tells it.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://richie-tozier-is-my-eboy.tumblr.com/). send me a [prompt](https://richie-tozier-is-my-eboy.tumblr.com/ask) :)


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